Fic: Springtime's Idle Games (Pansy/Various), R
Title: Springtime's Idle Games
Author: starrysummer
Rating: R
Pairings: Pansy/Rita, Pansy/Millicent, Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Zacharias, Zacharias/Cedric
Warnings: underaged sex (fourth year), alcohol use, dubious consent
Summary: Pansy hates Hufflepuffs, but she loves games. She's good at them, too, she knows.
Author's Notes: All character and house bashing within is the opinion of the characters, and not the authors. Written for prurient_badger for the hp_springsmut fest. Thanks to sioniann for the beta.
Pansy hates Hufflepuffs.
No offence to any of them specifically. She recalls Zacharias Smith casting a particularly enjoyable jellylegs jinx on that third year brat, Ginny Weasley, one time and that Cedric they're all going on about is rather nice looking.
It's more the principle of the matter. Yes, thinks Pansy as she combs the knots - hard, with a grimace - out of her hair and puts on her makeup.
If there's one thing Pansy hates, it's weakness.
-
Pansy plays games.
Plays games with whispered words to glittering insects in the Springtime sun. Sibilant secrets in a hush as schoolgirls make daisychain crowns over sunlit-empty dominion and boys toss quaffles - never ever let them touch the ground. Words drawn silver like webs towards contest-conclusion that next morning glimmer boldface in the early edition.
Pansy dreams up stories and lies as she stirs half-awake waiting for next-day and counts scores on her fingers, scores on her fingers beneath the bedsheets.
And, when, behind the midday brushes near the quidditch pitch, a blonde-stained woman with lips red as dyed-glass rubies touches her to rough-hushed screams, Pansy simply tells herself she's won and that - there - that's her prize.
-
Pansy loves beautiful things.
She tells this to Millicent as the other girl - the ugly girl - slips firewhisky into their evening tea and the world slips softly away towards evening, towards morning.
She leans back, her fingers ice-white against the bone china and thinks about the boys she's loved - the men she will love, all dressed in white and dancing.
Millicent is a girl of little words, and Pansy thinks that's a good thing, for she likes her own words best. There's always a surprise to promise now, and when Millicent only mutters that honestly, Parkinson, I really don't care Pansy thinks it's awfully facetious and it most certainly matters that the mudblood Granger girl looks - and acts - like a cow.
And Pansy, after all, is meant for things glittering and beautiful, like the way the chandelier shines spinning laughter and her hair splits halfway across the pillowcase as Millicent drives thick fingers into her over and over and over again saying shut up, you ruddy vapid bitch.
But Pansy's warm and she's laughing because, really, everyone will know that Granger's a cow who's handy with love potions come the morning.
-
Pansy likes to play with fire.
It's only a game after all, and there's always magic to set things right in the sunny springtime when darkness is just another word for before and glory.
The Weasley girl is arguing with that arrogant Hufflepuff again and Pansy wonders if they could hex each other blind already. Honestly, she thinks, some people are so very, very tiresome and useless in their own peculiar ways.
But Zacharias smiles at her, and it's cute, she thinks and he almost reminds her of Draco but a little bit more… alive.
And he's looking at Ginny and he wants her, she knows, since this is a game Pansy's mastered since first year - sly little looks and dropping her rucksack. Ginny looks back at him and Pansy's had enough.
"You know what he wants you for, Weasley."
Ginny turns to her, red hair burning in the sun, eyes brown and dark and glaring.
"Maybe we just don’t like each other."
Pansy stands and is a half-inch shorter, despite being older. She's wearing heels, but they sink a bit into the April soil.
"You know nothing," laughs Pansy. "He's only doing this because he likes - no, because he wants you. Trying to hex his way into your knickers."
"Is that it?" says Ginny, face-close and breath smelling of lemon and gingerspice.
"Of course that's it," says Pansy with a cruel huff of a laugh.
And Ginny kisses her.
"So it is," Ginny says, as she walks away.
-
Pansy likes boys.
She reminds herself of this as she watches Draco's hands clasp tight to his fork at supper, when Cedric laughs with the Hufflepuffs who seem to worship him - pathetic things that they are - and when Zacharias glares at her, matches her watching eyes and smiles as if reared in attack.
They're all so very pretty, particularly Cedric with the curls that hang unbidden lightly across his eyebrows. The sort of thing she'd spend hours seeking in front of the mirror with a comb and a wand only to give up and reach for the ribbon again.
Yes, yes, she thinks. She does like boys, Draco-of-course and maybe particularly Cedric whom everyone stares up at as if he's a hero without a scar. She thinks of him, the older boy and the Hufflepuff and thinks it'd make a very interesting step in the game.
But there goes Smith again, licking his lips as if it's something lewd and really, she thinks, boys are quite awful, but one must put up with them to get anywhere in life.
He catches her by the elbow on the way out to the courtyard. She'd been thinking of looking for her beetle, playing the word game again with stories of how Mrs Weasley feeds her run-down family from tossed coins in alleyways while the kids are fast asleep.
"What is it, Smith?" she says impatiently.
"What are you after?" he asks. He doesn't seem angry. Just… interested.
"Nothing of yours," she says.
And he laughs, laughs at her. She struggles from his grasp, but it's not working.
"You're pretty when you stop trying so hard," he says, as if he's the judge of that.
"I'm pretty all the time," she says as she turns away.
And he's laughing again and she's thinking, no, this isn't right. It has to stop, so she turns and she kisses him and the laughter stops. His hands are on her side, cupping her breasts and she thinks that it's rather soft for a boy his age and his breath smells spiced clean like mint and that's not right either.
"Go away!" she says, and he does, slowly, with a look of pity on his face as he turns away.
And she thinks, that's not right.
But she knows she likes boys, just not that one.
-
Zacharias sits beside Cedric at breakfast the next morning as the owls drop the day's news into their laps and pumpkin juice refills itself sip after sip. It's raining outside - he can tell from the slight dampness as he unrolls the paper - though the great hall ceiling tells lies of a blue sky and blinding summer sun.
"Strange girl, that Parkinson," says Cedric as he averts the gaze of the brown-haired Slytherin across the hall.
"You don't know the half of it," laughs Zacharias.
"Tell me later, then?" says Cedric, with a conspiring sort of smile and a brush of his finger against Zacharias's chin.
Zacharias nods as Ernie Macmillan turns the page to the gossip section where Rita Skeeter's smiling face beams down telling readers of Hermione Granger's illicit affair with Viktor Krum and how she's likely got the Boy Who Lived under Imperius.
"Some people," says Zacharias with an idle glance, "have too much time on their hands."
Author: starrysummer
Rating: R
Pairings: Pansy/Rita, Pansy/Millicent, Pansy/Ginny, Pansy/Zacharias, Zacharias/Cedric
Warnings: underaged sex (fourth year), alcohol use, dubious consent
Summary: Pansy hates Hufflepuffs, but she loves games. She's good at them, too, she knows.
Author's Notes: All character and house bashing within is the opinion of the characters, and not the authors. Written for prurient_badger for the hp_springsmut fest. Thanks to sioniann for the beta.
Pansy hates Hufflepuffs.
No offence to any of them specifically. She recalls Zacharias Smith casting a particularly enjoyable jellylegs jinx on that third year brat, Ginny Weasley, one time and that Cedric they're all going on about is rather nice looking.
It's more the principle of the matter. Yes, thinks Pansy as she combs the knots - hard, with a grimace - out of her hair and puts on her makeup.
If there's one thing Pansy hates, it's weakness.
-
Pansy plays games.
Plays games with whispered words to glittering insects in the Springtime sun. Sibilant secrets in a hush as schoolgirls make daisychain crowns over sunlit-empty dominion and boys toss quaffles - never ever let them touch the ground. Words drawn silver like webs towards contest-conclusion that next morning glimmer boldface in the early edition.
Pansy dreams up stories and lies as she stirs half-awake waiting for next-day and counts scores on her fingers, scores on her fingers beneath the bedsheets.
And, when, behind the midday brushes near the quidditch pitch, a blonde-stained woman with lips red as dyed-glass rubies touches her to rough-hushed screams, Pansy simply tells herself she's won and that - there - that's her prize.
-
Pansy loves beautiful things.
She tells this to Millicent as the other girl - the ugly girl - slips firewhisky into their evening tea and the world slips softly away towards evening, towards morning.
She leans back, her fingers ice-white against the bone china and thinks about the boys she's loved - the men she will love, all dressed in white and dancing.
Millicent is a girl of little words, and Pansy thinks that's a good thing, for she likes her own words best. There's always a surprise to promise now, and when Millicent only mutters that honestly, Parkinson, I really don't care Pansy thinks it's awfully facetious and it most certainly matters that the mudblood Granger girl looks - and acts - like a cow.
And Pansy, after all, is meant for things glittering and beautiful, like the way the chandelier shines spinning laughter and her hair splits halfway across the pillowcase as Millicent drives thick fingers into her over and over and over again saying shut up, you ruddy vapid bitch.
But Pansy's warm and she's laughing because, really, everyone will know that Granger's a cow who's handy with love potions come the morning.
-
Pansy likes to play with fire.
It's only a game after all, and there's always magic to set things right in the sunny springtime when darkness is just another word for before and glory.
The Weasley girl is arguing with that arrogant Hufflepuff again and Pansy wonders if they could hex each other blind already. Honestly, she thinks, some people are so very, very tiresome and useless in their own peculiar ways.
But Zacharias smiles at her, and it's cute, she thinks and he almost reminds her of Draco but a little bit more… alive.
And he's looking at Ginny and he wants her, she knows, since this is a game Pansy's mastered since first year - sly little looks and dropping her rucksack. Ginny looks back at him and Pansy's had enough.
"You know what he wants you for, Weasley."
Ginny turns to her, red hair burning in the sun, eyes brown and dark and glaring.
"Maybe we just don’t like each other."
Pansy stands and is a half-inch shorter, despite being older. She's wearing heels, but they sink a bit into the April soil.
"You know nothing," laughs Pansy. "He's only doing this because he likes - no, because he wants you. Trying to hex his way into your knickers."
"Is that it?" says Ginny, face-close and breath smelling of lemon and gingerspice.
"Of course that's it," says Pansy with a cruel huff of a laugh.
And Ginny kisses her.
"So it is," Ginny says, as she walks away.
-
Pansy likes boys.
She reminds herself of this as she watches Draco's hands clasp tight to his fork at supper, when Cedric laughs with the Hufflepuffs who seem to worship him - pathetic things that they are - and when Zacharias glares at her, matches her watching eyes and smiles as if reared in attack.
They're all so very pretty, particularly Cedric with the curls that hang unbidden lightly across his eyebrows. The sort of thing she'd spend hours seeking in front of the mirror with a comb and a wand only to give up and reach for the ribbon again.
Yes, yes, she thinks. She does like boys, Draco-of-course and maybe particularly Cedric whom everyone stares up at as if he's a hero without a scar. She thinks of him, the older boy and the Hufflepuff and thinks it'd make a very interesting step in the game.
But there goes Smith again, licking his lips as if it's something lewd and really, she thinks, boys are quite awful, but one must put up with them to get anywhere in life.
He catches her by the elbow on the way out to the courtyard. She'd been thinking of looking for her beetle, playing the word game again with stories of how Mrs Weasley feeds her run-down family from tossed coins in alleyways while the kids are fast asleep.
"What is it, Smith?" she says impatiently.
"What are you after?" he asks. He doesn't seem angry. Just… interested.
"Nothing of yours," she says.
And he laughs, laughs at her. She struggles from his grasp, but it's not working.
"You're pretty when you stop trying so hard," he says, as if he's the judge of that.
"I'm pretty all the time," she says as she turns away.
And he's laughing again and she's thinking, no, this isn't right. It has to stop, so she turns and she kisses him and the laughter stops. His hands are on her side, cupping her breasts and she thinks that it's rather soft for a boy his age and his breath smells spiced clean like mint and that's not right either.
"Go away!" she says, and he does, slowly, with a look of pity on his face as he turns away.
And she thinks, that's not right.
But she knows she likes boys, just not that one.
-
Zacharias sits beside Cedric at breakfast the next morning as the owls drop the day's news into their laps and pumpkin juice refills itself sip after sip. It's raining outside - he can tell from the slight dampness as he unrolls the paper - though the great hall ceiling tells lies of a blue sky and blinding summer sun.
"Strange girl, that Parkinson," says Cedric as he averts the gaze of the brown-haired Slytherin across the hall.
"You don't know the half of it," laughs Zacharias.
"Tell me later, then?" says Cedric, with a conspiring sort of smile and a brush of his finger against Zacharias's chin.
Zacharias nods as Ernie Macmillan turns the page to the gossip section where Rita Skeeter's smiling face beams down telling readers of Hermione Granger's illicit affair with Viktor Krum and how she's likely got the Boy Who Lived under Imperius.
"Some people," says Zacharias with an idle glance, "have too much time on their hands."